#smushedwrites

Sherlock swore he'd never get that salt and pepper hair that Lestrade had, but now he was sitting by the fire with a cup of tea he noted just then that it was just like Greg's, even though he started greying a long time ago. He sighed and then felt that familiar warm hand on his shoulder before he sat opposite Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked over and gave his elder brother a kind smile. Mycroft hadn't aged well at all, but not even Sherlock could tell him that. Well, not anymore. Mycroft had rounded somewhat around the edges, but it suited him, Sherlock thought that he would look ill if he were thin. Like Sherlock looked. 

His prominent cheekbones still stood proud below his eyes but his skin hadn't the elasticity that it used to have, his piercing blue eyes were framed by curly dark and white hair, although the white hair was a lot more brittle and frizzy. Mycroft found Sherlock finally looked like the mad scientist he was. 

You both like Johnlock.

Stranger: I have a date tonight. Don't ruin this one. JW

You: Why would I do that John? It's hardly my fault if your dates are all idiots. SH

Stranger: I have no idea why you'd do it. But you do it anyways. So I'm telling you not to do it this time. JW

You: I will be sure to stay out of your way then. Where are you taking her? SH

Lestrade and Mycroft almost stumbled into it. It was a complete accident. After his divorce, as happy as he was that both parties were out of that painful relationship, he was upset and torn. So Mycroft was a friend to him. He was lovely.

They began to be around each other more and more, to the point where they would take time out of their busy days to text, to call, for then Mycroft to unadmittedly be brave and asking Greg out on a date. The rest was natural. Meals, laughs, drinks, until Greg forgot his heart ache, allowed Mycroft to mend it with his delicate and proper mannerisms. They stayed at one another’s homes whenever they could, which was about three times a week. 

Their physical relationship had slowly been unravelling, after all, Greg had considered himself straight until Mycroft came onto the scene. Bi-curious in his Uni years, but now he was fully attracted to the man, and he had it in his mind that it was any day now, any day to experience it with him, he was warm with the flutter of nerves and anticipation at the idea of it, almost getting butterflies, a feeling he had completely forgot about.

He was getting ready for dinner when he heard his phone ringing, he was expecting Myc, not Julie. His heart froze. He picked it up.

"Hello?" 

"Hi… Greg, are you busy?" She asked, voice tentative, not cold and distant like it had been with the divorce eight months ago. His heart sank, head falling back his jaw tightened.

"Well… Sort of, why?" He was trying to distance himself, she was the one who filed this divorce, she was the one who left him, she was the one who gave up. He convinced himself it was for the better, so why was she doing this? Phoning him with such a broken voice. He squeezed his eyes shut falling back against the wall, he was moving on, he was almost happy.

"I uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a drink? For old time’s sake." She laughed feebly. Greg was gripping the phone tightly, biting his inner lip.

It was the balance of the two.

The memories, flashbacks, the time and years of his life he spent growing with her, the comfort, the naturalness of being with her.

The fresh and new feeling of Myc, his nerves buzzing, his heart racing, his hope for the future with him, the anxiety of where they will go next.

She left him, she left him.

“Sorry, love, I have a date tonight.” He called her love out of habit, a habit he needed to fix, he felt a pang in his chest from it. He shook his head as he heard her sound of surprise.

"Oh! Uh, right yeah. Have a good evening Greg." They said goodbye and Greg went to the date, trying to forget her.

Mycroft knew right away. Of course he did, can’t get anything past the Holmes. But mostly, it was the faint scent of cigarettes on Greg’s breath when he sighed.

Mycroft understood, he was very passive to his own feelings, always putting others before him and acting indifferent. Greg felt awful, he was very very interested in him, perhaps even beginning to love him, when she came and reminded him of all the pain she caused.

When their date ended they stood outside the restaurant, rosy cheeked from the wine.

"Can I come to yours… please?" Greg asked. Mycroft tilted his head.

"Are you quite sure?" He glanced over Greg, he hadn’t seen him this unstable since their first date.

"Positive. Please." Mycroft was hesitant to let Greg to his in a vulnerable state, but he decided that perhaps he didn’t want to be alone. 

When they arrived at the elder Holmes, Greg had Mycroft against the wall in his home as soon as the door shut. 

"God, it’s not fair, it’s not fair-" Greg mouthed against Mycroft’s lips, holding his face. "I was so ready, I was ready for us, I wanted to be yours, I wanted you to be mine, for God’s sake," He rambled against Mycroft’s lips, each word punctuated with a kiss, Mycroft was allowing Greg to do what he needed, to feel better, kissing him back gently, not adding any heat, he didn’t want Greg to do anything he regret.

They over compensated for it for years, they knew they did. More likely on Sherlock's part, acting like he couldn't stand Mycroft, to which Mycroft couldn't quite reciprocate this pretended resentment, instead he would just roll his eyes.

It helped their relationship in a lot of ways, because when no one was looking and no one was around they could relax and apologise and smile at one another genuinely, stroking their hands and shoulders to try and erase how nasty they had just been to each other.

But they slowly grew tired of it, and the fact was, they wished one day to be proud that they were together, if only it were accepted within society. 

John walked into the living room of 221B to see Sherlock hovering behind Mycroft, who sat on the sofa, Sherlock's hands were on Mycroft's shoulders and his face was resting beside Mycroft's as they read a file together.

"Well this is different," John laughed, going to put his shopping away. 

Sherlock turned to John and shrugged before joining him in the kitchen.

"Tea? Mycroft? John?" Sherlock enquired, John blinked at him.

"Are you alright?" He laughed sceptically.

"Fine, why?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yes please!" Mycroft responded. Sherlock filled the kettle for three and when he made the tea popped the tray on the living room coffee table before sitting next to Mycroft again. 

They were pointing at the file, a profile of a man, Sherlock made a deduction about the man loving pornography a little too much to which Mycroft elaborated and stated that he had a sex addiction, they were giggling. 

Mycroft playfully slapped Sherlock's knee to scold him for a particularly scathing remark before gently stroking his thigh and resuming the analysis on the case.

John was in utter shock, but it was pleasant to have them to eager to get along.

____________

A few weeks later they were at the yard, on a case, Sherlock springing about on his feet and deducing and analysing. He had been out all day, and had forgotten to eat, so when Mycroft turned up at the yard with a coffee cup and a cone of chips Sherlock beamed. 

He listed to Lestrade the details of the murder before running to Mycroft and giving him a big hug, Mycroft's hands were full, so they only way he could reciprocate was to tuck his face into Sherlock's neck.

Lestrade and John were gobsmacked. What had occurred to make them get along so well?

"Who's freaks lover-boy?" Sally asked. 

To which everyone, including Mycroft and Sherlock, looked at her.

"That's his brother." Greg filled in, John frowned at Sally as though it were preposterous. 

"And boyfriend." Sherlock added, eating his chips one by one. Sally stared at him, mouth agape, in disgust. Mycroft stepped up and slipped a hand around Sherlock's waist.

John stuttered, before he pinched the bridge of his nose and started again. "Are you two joking? Since when?" 

"I've known for a while," Greg shrugged, which was true. Mycroft confided in him about it years ago. 

"You really are a freak." Sally sniped, John inhaled as though to speak and Greg intervened.